Lost Things
by Lore55
Summary: When Ace died, his body disappeared in a flash of red. Years later, an injured Marco stumbles across someone who should be dead.
1. The Lost

**I've been binge watching One Piece and I was reminded of just how much I love Ace and Marco. It was just a matter of time before I wrote about them, and here it is! My denial and Marco's lucky break.**

* * *

Marco liked to think that, with all of his experience as a pirate and all of the battles he had seen in his life, he didn't fall for the same trick twice. And indeed, it wasn't the same trick. It was some new idea the Marine's had had at some point, when they decided that they really wanted to make Marco miserable.

At first, he thought it was just a canon. Those were common on ships, and this one was no exception. There were at least 15 canons on the ship that the Marine's had turned to face the small vessel that he sailed (Alone, these days, after the disastrous attempt on Teach's life) towards the winter island. Marco had taken to the sky, intent on avoiding being hit, and for the most part it worked. He dodged all of the canon balls, though his ship didn't fair as well.

He watched it sink, sad for the small skiff. It was no _Moby Dick_ , but it carried him well.

That was his mistake. That split second of being distracted was all it took something to come hurtling through the air at him.

He saw the glint of metal an instant before something slammed into his throat. Cold washed over him, his wings vanished and the fire went out, inside and outside of his body. Marco was sent flying, plummeting out of the sky and towards the earth.

He choked, scrabbling at the seastone wrapped around his throat. Blood slithered down his back, staining his shirt. Something pierced his chest with cold pain. More seastone.

He fell, into the dark grey clouds that covered the island. Down, through the freezing condensation, with the snow that floated so gently around him he dropped through the air with the grace of a boulder.

He twisted, trying desperately to rip the collar off of his throat. He saw white, snow piled high beneath him, coming in fast. Too fast, he ripped at the metal, tore into his own skin and shouted into the screaming wind around his ears.

He hit the ground. Everything went white.

* * *

It was white when he woke up. His ears were ringing, his neck burned and his chest was screaming at him. Everything hurt. Everything was cold, a cold that sunk deep into his bones, chilling his whole body.

It called to him, a deathly whisper to let go of the fire that flickered inside of him and succumb. To join his father and his fallen brothers.

On shaking legs, Marco stood.

The white snow was dyed red with his own blood, seeping steadily out of his chest. He couldn't tell if everything was blurry because he had lost so much blood or if it was because of the snow storm he had crashed into.

He stumbled forwards, the snow up to his knees impeding him. Every step he had to take was a fight to put one foot in front of the other. He nearly collapsed at ten steps, but managed to grab a tree to hold himself up. He was breathing hard, cold air burning hard in his lungs. He could breath, but only barely.

Marco slugged another step, then another. He didn't know where he was going but he knew he couldn't stay where he was. He couldn't afford to stay in the snow, in the cold, out in the open where anyone might find him.

Where the _Marine's_ might find him.

His eyes, usually half lidded anyhow, slipped further shut. The white grew behind them. The ringing in his ears turned static. Marco pushed himself to go further. He couldn't stop. He couldn't afford to stop.

He stumbled, suddenly, away from the trees and into a clearing. There was a light, warm, yellow, flickering in the air ahead. The phoenix pushed himself towards it, too cold now to feel anything at all. The snow was lower here, even though the trees weren't around to cover the ground.

 _A path_ , his sluggish brain supplied. _I found a path_.

He was beyond the point of shaking when he finally got close enough to see that the flickering yellow light was a candle set into a window. A cabin, he realized, in the middle of the snowy woods. Marco brought a hand he could no longer feel to the wooden door and knocked weakly. He couldn't even hear his own strike.

The pirate fell forwards, his head hitting the wood, his shoulder catching the door frame. Things had started to spin and blur again. The hope he felt for the little light faded into the frigid invasion of his bones.

His eyes started to close. Was this is it? Would he really freeze to death on a stranger's doorstep? What would Pops say to that?

The door opened suddenly, and Marco pitched inside. He heard a yelp, startled and strangely familiar, though he couldn't place why, before hands grabbed him by his shoulders.

"Hey! Hey! Are you okay? What are you doing out here in the storm, are you cra- oh god, is that _blood_?!"

Marco knew that voice. He knew he knew that voice.

The phoenix lifted his head, forcing his eyes to see beyond the black coat and the thick white scarf. Up, past the strong jaw and the freckles, splattered across the face, to the black eyes that he knew so well.

"Ace," his voice was harsh with cold and blood that had been creeping up from his chest. The man stood before him, brows furrowed. Marco couldn't take anymore after that. It was too much for his body, too much for his aching, broken heart.

His legs gave out and the phoenix fell into white oblivion.

* * *

When he woke up he was warm. Warmer, in any case. The bone deep cold brought about by the seastone collar around his neck. His chest still hurt, but less now.

At first, Marco didn't move. The pain of breathing was proof enough that he wasn't dead. A good sign, probably. Marco opened his eyes, slowly. The white had left his vision, in its place was brown. Wooden planks cross over his head, fitted together. A lantern hung from the ceiling nearby.

Marco sat up, slowly, wincing at the pull on his chest. At least the bullet didn't seem to be inside of him. That was a good sign. That didn't stop his head from spinning and his stomach from trying to shove itself into his throat.

He made a face before looking to the left and finding a stone wall. They weren't brick, they weren't uniform. They were fitted together but the sizes were uneven. Not made by a professional. His eyes left the wall, cross the hatched quilt spread across his lap. A sun smiled at him with dark glasses. The floor was wood, same a the ceiling. There weren't corners, the house was a circle, and only one room. He could see the front door, and the blood he had no doubt left on the floor in front of it.

There was a burning wood stove, and beside it a man with wavy black hair was stirring a pot. The owner of the house. Marco had dreamt that it had been Ace whose house he found. He could smell the food from across the room, some kind of stew. The table only had one chair. The house was surprisingly sparse for such a small home.

Marco couldn't find any pictures or personal touches. In fact the only parts that seemed to indicate the kind of person that lives there was the quilt and the long black coat hanging by the door. The house had no memories, no personality.

Marco reached to touch his ribs, finding the hole that had been there before had been covered by thick bandages. His shirt had been taken away at some point. His fingers slid up to his neck, where the seastone still choked him. He could feel the bruise forming underneath it, the skin delicate and painful. Around it were burning scratches from Marco's frantic attempts to free himself.

Now that his head was a little clearer and he was out of the woods Marco had the sense to feel around the collar, the metal _wrong_ under his fingers. There was a hing for it that bumped along the front, where it had impacted his throat. Along the back he found a crack that ran its length, and a keyhole.

"Oh," the familiar voice came back, striking Marco right between the ribs. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

Footsteps crossed the room and Marco forced his eyes up, to the face he knew he'd dreamt before passing out. His breath left him again, for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

"Ace," he barely breathed the name. He looked up at the face, freckles and dark, fathomless eyes. His hair was longer, down to his shoulders now, and whatever baby fat he'd had before was gone now. Even with two more years on him, that was a face that Marco had ached to see for two long, long years.

Perfect lips turned downwards into a frown.

"You called me that before. I'm sorry but, do you know me?"

That stopped Marco's thoughts. Did he know him? Of course he knew him! He was Ace, the Fire Fist, the Second Division Commander. He was Marco's brother, his lover, he was the one they had all gone to war for. He was the one they would have torn the world assunder to rescue. The one that they failed.

Instead of voicing all of these thoughts he asked, "You are Ace, aren't?"

The man ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back out of his face. The gesture was enough to make Marco's pulse change. Had he really missed Ace so much that such a simple gesture could do that?

"Well um, truthfully sir, I don't know."


	2. The Forgotten

Ace only knew his name because it was tattooed on his arm. Or at least they assumed that that was his name. Him and the villagers that had found him in the snow two and a half years ago. Ace, that name was all he had.

He had no memory of who he had been before the forest fire ravaged the land, the same fire that he had stumbled out of, naked and covered in bruises and cuts. Not to mention the massive scar that took up most of his chest and his back. All he had was the name on the tattoo. Ace, misspelled the first time. Or maybe there was a meaning behind the crossed out S. He didn't know.

He had tried to learn, he tried to remember, but whenever he tried to remember who he had been it felt like a fire had erupted under his skin and his head beat with the force of a drum. Eventually he had to give up.

No one on the island knew who he was, but they treated him with kindness and helped him build his home, out of town. He didn't know why, but living in the woods felt natural. Familiar.

So that was where he stayed, for two years, until there something fell against the door. Something, or some _one_ , as the case was. Someone who knew his name, but who he didn't remember meeting.

Ace didn't know how he knew how to take care of a bullet wound of all things, but he knew how to clean it, he knew how to apply the bandages, he even knew how to check for a fever.

He kept an eye on the man for the next few days, but nothing seemed to happen to his mystery guest. He laid in the bed, breathing evenly, sleeping soundly. Every now again he would shift around before he settled again, and twice Ace had had to pull his hands away from scratching at the thick metal collar around his neck.

He touched the collar once, to try and clean the gauges on his neck, and was swept through with horrible nausea, actually driving him to his knees until he let go of it. It was _terrible_. Ace vowed to never touch it again.

He was making stew when the person who had been taking up his bed for the past few days finally woke up. Ace spied on him out of the corner of his eye. He was good looking, though he looked pale and sick. His blond hair was messy and wilk and his wide lower lip looked like it would be easy to kiss.

Not that that was anything that Ace would be doing.

His eyes, even when they were open, had a sleepy look that pulled at Ace's heart string. Seeing him in his bed made Ace feel all kinds of warm. He shook his head quickly, trying to clear it. He squared his shoulders, took a breath, and turned to his new companion. He didn't want to startle him, so he spoke before he moved towards him.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, as if he'd just noticed. "How are you feeling?" Ace grabbed a wet cloth from the sink on his way to the bed.

He barely heard the soft whisper of, "Ace," the came from the other man's mouth. This was the second time that he'd said his name, without Ace having ever introduced himself to him.

"You called me that before," Ace kept his voice soft, " I'm sorry but, do you know me?" the question had been bothering him for days.

The man's shoulders got stiffer. He looked up at Ace fully then, his eye were far away, but trained right on him. Like he was seeing him but not. Like he was looking at a ghost.

"You are Ace, aren't you?" he asked, the words choked.

Ace frowned at him. "Well um, truthfully sir, I don't know," he confessed.

There was a beat of silence before the strangers brows furrowed and sleepy eyes turned up towards him.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean what I said. I don't know if I am Ace. Not the one you're talking about," he shrugged, smiling apologetically at the other man. "What's your name?"

A flash of pain crossed the blonds face and Ace feared it was the bullet hole in his chest, the way his hand twitched there. Except his hand was too high up to be there for the injury.

"Marco," he cleared his throat, "My name is Marco. You look like someone I used to know."

Ace sat at the edge of the bed, folding his hands in his lap. He considered the blond, looking at his bloody neck, his wide mouth, his sleepy eyes. His breath caught at the sight of them. They were familiar. The burning came back to his brain, pushing hard behind his temples. More than that though, Marco's eyes were fixed on him, and filled with something Ace saw in the mirror far too often.

Loneliness.

Ace swallowed thickly.

"Do you know me, Marco?"

Marco shook his head and Ace felt his heart sink. He had thought that maybe he could finally get some answers about his past.

"The Ace I knew died two years ago."

"Died," Ace repeated. Two years ago. Two years. Could it be a coincidence? Was it possible? Ace shook his head. "I'm sorry for you loss."

Marco lifted his shoulders. "It's happened, no one can change that."

"How do you feel?" Ace decided to change the subject. It was clearly painful for Marco to talk about.

"I'll be better once this damned collar is off my neck," he growled.

"What is that?" Ace asked, frowning at it. It was horrible to touch.

"It's seastone. For devil fruit users. The- someone put it on me, and it's making me sick."

Ace remembered the disgusting feeling he got when he touched it and cringed in sympathy. He couldn't even imagine being in constant contact with it for days.

"How do I get it off of you?" There wasn't an ounce of hesitation to him. He would no way let someone keep touching that thing if he could stop it. And not someone like Marco.

Ace frowned. Where did that come from? He barely knew Marco!

Marco looked at him thoughtfully. He brought his hands up, bringing them around the collar. Ace watched him curiously.

"A knife could work, I suppose."

Ace frowned. "A knife? I might cut you!"

Marco turned a strange look on him. His mouth curved slightly.

"You wouldn't. Even if you did, once the collar is off it won't matter.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ace leaned back a little, one arm across Marco's legs. The man didn't make that much sense. Of course, he had come out of a blizzard. That would make anyone weird. Ace came out of a forest fire and he'd lost his memory.

Marco flashed a smile at him that shoved Ace's heart in his throat.

"Trust me."

* * *

Ace only knew his name because it was tattooed on his arm. Or at least they assumed that that was his name. Him and the villagers that had found him in the snow two and a half years ago. Ace, that name was all he had.

He had no memory of who he had been before the forest fire ravaged the land, the same fire that he had stumbled out of, naked and covered in bruises and cuts. Not to mention the massive scar that took up most of his chest and his back. All he had was the name on the tattoo. Ace, misspelled the first time. Or maybe there was a meaning behind the crossed out S. He didn't know.

He had tried to learn, he tried to remember, but whenever he tried to remember who he had been it felt like a fire had erupted under his skin and his head beat with the force of a drum. Eventually he had to give up.

No one on the island knew who he was, but they treated him with kindness and helped him build his home, out of town. He didn't know why, but living in the woods felt natural. Familiar.

So that was where he stayed, for two years, until there something fell against the door. Something, or someone, as the case was. Someone who knew his name, but who he didn't remember meeting.

Ace didn't know how he knew how to take care of a bullet wound of all things, but he knew how to clean it, he knew how to apply the bandages, he even knew how to check for a fever.

He kept an eye on the man for the next few days, but nothing seemed to happen to his mystery guest. He laid in the bed, breathing evenly, sleeping soundly. Every now again he would shift around before he settled again, and twice Ace had had to pull his hands away from scratching at the thick metal collar around his neck.

He touched the collar once, to try and clean the gauges on his neck, and was swept through with horrible nausea, actually driving him to his knees until he let go of it. It was terrible. Ace vowed to never touch it again.

He was making stew when the person who had been taking up his bed for the past few days finally woke up. Ace spied on him out of the corner of his eye. He was good looking, though he looked pale and sick. His blond hair was messy and wilk and his wide lower lip looked like it would be easy to kiss.

Not that that was anything that Ace would be doing.

His eyes, even when they were open, had a sleepy look that pulled at Ace's heart string. Seeing him in his bed made Ace feel all kinds of warm. He shook his head quickly, trying to clear it. He squared his shoulders, took a breath, and turned to his new companion. He didn't want to startle him, so he spoke before he moved towards him.

"Oh, you're awake," he said, as if he'd just noticed. "How are you feeling?" Ace grabbed a wet cloth from the sink on his way to the bed.

He barely heard the soft whisper of, "Ace," the came from the other man's mouth. This was the second time that he'd said his name, without Ace having ever introduced himself to him.

"You called me that before," Ace kept his voice soft, " I'm sorry but, do you know me?" the question had been bothering him for days.

The man's shoulders got stiffer. He looked up at Ace fully then, his eye were far away, but trained right on him. Like he was seeing him but not. Like he was looking at a ghost.

"You are Ace, aren't you?" he asked, the words choked.

Ace frowned at him. "Well um, truthfully sir, I don't know," he confessed.

There was a beat of silence before the strangers brows furrowed and sleepy eyes turned up towards him.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean what I said. I don't know if I am Ace. Not the one you're talking about," he shrugged, smiling apologetically at the other man. "What's your name?"

A flash of pain crossed the blonds face and Ace feared it was the bullet hole in his chest, the way his hand twitched there. Except his hand was too high up to be there for the injury.

"Marco," he cleared his throat, "My name is Marco. You look like someone I used to know."

Ace sat at the edge of the bed, folding his hands in his lap. He considered the blond, looking at his bloody neck, his wide mouth, his sleepy eyes. His breath caught at the sight of them. They were familiar. The burning came back to his brain, pushing hard behind his temples. More than that though, Marco's eyes were fixed on him, and filled with something Ace saw in the mirror far too often.

Loneliness.

Ace swallowed thickly.

"Do you know me, Marco?"

Marco shook his head and Ace felt his heart sink. He had thought that maybe he could finally get some answers about his past.

"The Ace I knew died two years ago."

"Died," Ace repeated. Two years ago. Two years. Could it be a coincidence? Was it possible? Ace shook his head. "I'm sorry for you loss."

Marco lifted his shoulders. "It's happened, no one can change that."

"How do you feel?" Ace decided to change the subject. It was clearly painful for Marco to talk about.

"I'll be better once this damned collar is off my neck," he growled.

"What is that?" Ace asked, frowning at it. It was horrible to touch.

"It's seastone. For devil fruit users. The- someone put it on me, and it's making me sick."

Ace remembered the disgusting feeling he got when he touched it and cringed in sympathy. He couldn't even imagine being in constant contact with it for days.

"How do I get it off of you?" There wasn't an ounce of hesitation to him. He would no way let someone keep touching that thing if he could stop it. And not someone like Marco.

Ace frowned. Where did that come from? He barely knew Marco!

Marco looked at him thoughtfully. He brought his hands up, bringing them around the collar. Ace watched him curiously.

"A knife could work, I suppose."

Ace frowned. "A knife? I might cut you!"

Marco turned a strange look on him. His mouth curved slightly.

"You wouldn't. Even if you did, once the collar is off it won't matter.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ace leaned back a little, one arm across Marco's legs. The man didn't make that much sense. Of course, he had come out of a blizzard. That would make anyone weird. Ace came out of a forest fire and he'd lost his memory.

Marco flashed a smile at him that shoved Ace's heart in his throat.

"Trust me."

* * *

Ace was pretty sure that this Marco guy was crazy. Like, totally crazy. Only crazy people told you to put a knife to their neck, lining up with their spine, and use it to forcefully prie open a metal collar. A stone collar? Just what was seastone?

Ace shook off his uncertainty.

Marco lay beneath him on the hardwood floor, giving Ace and his knife access to his back and to the back of his neck. Ace had no idea why he was trusting him this much. It didn't make much sense to him, to be honest. Marco said that his Ace was dead, but he had called Ace by the name of the dead man. Had Marco thought himself dead? Did Ace just look like Marco's Ace?

He knelt down behind the man and carefully slipped the thin blade between the edges of the collar. It was just wide enough to accommodate. Ace's hands were shaky.

"It's fine," Marco assured him for the tenth time. "Once it's off, everything will be fine."

"You keep saying that, but it's really not making me feel that much better," Ace told him dryly. The blond laughed, the sound music to Ace's ears.

He had to shake himself away from the thoughts. Maybe he was just too used to living out here, alone in the woods. The villagers were nice, but after his sudden appearance they all treated him wearily, and no matter how friendly and helpful they were none of them could ever quite hide the apprehension they felt around them. So Ace lived away from them, close enough to town he could get his supplied easily but far enough away no one would hear the nights where he screamed at the stars to tell him where he was meant to be. Where he belonged.

Ace took a deep breath.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, one last time.

Marco said, "Do it," with such command that that was what Ace did. He pushed down on the knife with both of his hands, twisting it as hard at he could. For a second nothing happened. He strained against the power of the locked collar, gritted his teeth and shoved with the force he usually reserved for killing deers. Deer.

There was a low groan from the metal, followed by a loud crack. The metal opened up around the knife. Ace yanked it away as fast as he could, but with the weight behind it still cut deeply into Marco's neck.

"Oh shit!" Ace threw the knife away, not caring where it went, and launched himself to his feet. He needed a rag, and bandages, and hot water and stitched and Marco was sitting up.

"Marco, you're neck!" he objected. A hand raised to stop him. The other hand reached up to pull the collar away. It fell to the ground, but that wasn't what Ace was looking at.

Across the thin line made by the knife, a deep cut as it was, it raced. Covered the dark bruises that had formed under the collar, shot across the gauges that Marco had scratched into his own neck. It erupted from his chest, the site the bullet left from, burning brightly in the dim light of his cabin.

Blue fire.

Blue fire, with flashes of yellow deep inside of it swirled across Marco's skin.

Ace's breath caught in his throat. The pounding in his head returned, washing through him. The fire in his chest erupted, clawing to get free. It burned with emotions he knew but didn't remember. He knew the fire.

He didn't even realize that he had reached out to touch the back of the pirate's neck. His fingers brushed through the fire, unharmed. It was warm but it didn't burn, it flickered across his finger tips, gentle and harmless. The fire that burned inside his throat leapt higher until Ace thought he was going to spit lava out of his mouth.

"Ace?"

He pulled away abruptly, like the fire really had burned him. It winked out on Marco's skin, leaving it unmarred and perfect. Bright eyes caught Ace's over a broad shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Marco asked, turning towards him.

Ace stood up on legs that felt like jelly. His head was pounding hard, someone was yelling in the back of it. His name, someone was yelling his name. Someone else was laughing.

"I- yeah. What was that?" he shook his head, struggling to clear it. He felt like his thoughts had to swim through syrup to get to where they needed to be.

Marco stood with him, unharmed. The bandage Ace had put on his chest fell to the ground, revealing perfect skin where once a hole had been. Marco was looking at him, something strange in his lonely eyes.

He took a step forwards. Ace's legs didn't want to carry him backwards.

"That was the devil fruit I mentioned. I'm a phoenix. I can heal from anything," he told him. Ace nodded slowly, trying to process it. A phoenix. He knew he knew the myth, but he didn't remember learning the myth. He knew a lot of things he didn't remember learning. An immortal bird that was made out of fire itself, one that could be reborn from its own ashes. He knew of devil fruit too, magic fruit that could bestow upon anyone special, fantastic powers. Some were amazing, like fire. Some were lame, like rubber.

And where did that thought come from?

"You don't look like a bird," Ace found himself saying. He turned a smile to the blond man's face. It felt so natural to smile at Marco. To joke with him.

Marco smiled back, less vibrant than Ace's but still there.

"Maybe when this storm clears up I'll show you something interesting," Marco offered.

"Really?!" Ace felt himself light up at the prospect. The idea of seeing more of that beautiful blue fire took him like a vice to his heart. The pounding and the shouting in his head faded once the fire went out but he had no doubt it would return if he saw the flames again.

That didn't stop the bone deep desire to watch Marco burn brightly.

A low, soft laugh left Marco and his wide mouth turned the smile higher.

"Yes, really."

Ace grinned at him widely. Something occurred to him and he jumped straighter.

"I haven't fed you yet!" he realized, horrified at his own manners. He flung himself across the room to the stew he'd been making, checking it hadn't burned while he'd been preoccupied with his guest. He sighed in relief to find it well enough and started moving around the small kitchenette. The cabinets were filled with food, enough to last him a week, a regular person a couple of months. Ace found two loaves of bread and hollowed them out, shoving the entrails of his own in his mouth before he filled both of them with the thick stew.

He turned around and jumped to find Marco practically right behind him.

"That smellls good," Marco said. Ace puffed with pride and handed over Marco's portion.

"I'm not the best cook in the world, I'm not picky enough for that, but I picked up a few things. Somewhere."

"You really don't remember who you are?" Marco took the bowl, and the spoon that followed after. Ace ushered him to the table and went to fetch the stool from the corner. He sat on that.

"No. Doc Brown figures I must have hit my head, or seen something so traumatic I don't want to remember," Ace shrugged. "I try, but I end up with a headache."

"Do you remember anything at all?" Marco asked.

Ace paused, considering. "I don't remember, but I feel things sometimes. I picked up a pipe and it felt familiar. I tied a knot no one showed him how to make. I know what a warm breeze feels like but they never blow on this islands. I know what it's like to hold hands and hug people but no one's ever done those with me here."

He knew what it was like to lay with a man but he'd never done such in these past two years. He knew what kissing felt like but none kissed him now.

"Really?" Marco shoved his spoon in the bowl. Ace could imagine that he was ravenous. He hadn't eaten in days, after all. Ace didn't want to imagine what that was like, but he was pretty sure he had had to do the same thing a few times on his own.

"Yeah," Ace nodded and shoved the stew into his mouth, trying not to be too gross about how he ate but he wasn't used to eating with other people present. He hadn't done it in a long time. How long had it been? Why did he always feel like he should be on the lookout to make sure that no one took away a part of his portion?

Ace had so many questions, and he had no answers at all. No one could answer his questions. The hope he'd held for Marco's having them died when he told him that his Ace friend was dead.

Marco took a bit of the soup and stopped moving entirely. His eyes widened, his shoulders drew together.

Ace paused. "Are you okay?"

Marco swallowed, his face paler. "Fine," he assured, waving his hand. He went back to the stew.

He didn't look fine to Ace, but he didn't argue with the pirate.

Pirate. There was that thought again. He'd labelled Marco as a pirate twice now, but Marco never said that was what it was. Maybe it was because he had the blue tattoo taking up most of his chest? The Whitebeard pirates mark, his brain provided. How would he know that?

Ace let it go, focusing on his own food instead of stewing over Marco and the things that he did and didn't know.

Outside, the wind howled. On the beach boats made their landing.


	3. The Trapped

Marco sat in the chair, watching Ace move around the house.

There wasn't much room to move to begin with, the place was small after all. If Marco wasn't so used to the confines of a ship it might be claustrophobic. There was still the creeping feeling of being caged whenever the wind blew to hard and the trees rattled against the glass but it passed.

If Ace knew he was being watched, he didn't show it. The boy talked a lot, not about much of anything, but it filled the silence. He told Marco about everyday things. Like the black squirrel that watched him chop firewood because it knew Ace didn't mind sharing his pistachios. He told him about the baker, Mrs. Madaline, who let him have the day old bread as long as he carried her flower bags for her. About the portmaster, Henry Finch, who had wild stories of life in the New World.

Marco didn't miss the way Ace's eyes lit up when he started talking about that, so much like the wonder he had seen the first time they took their own Ace to the New World for the first time, it was the look he'd seen on his brother's face every time he looked out over the waves.

It was the love of the sea.

Marco's heart clenched. This boy was so like the Ace that had died.

There was, still, that small hope in the back of his head. That sense at the edge of his heart that tried to tell him that this was the Ace that he knew.

He tried to shake it off. He couldn't take another heartbreak. Not so soon.

"How long had you lived here?" he asked, trying to draw himself back into the present, and away from the darkened past.

Ace went from surprised to thoughtful, his head tilting. Long black hair spilled across his broad shoulders, a stark contrast to the pale scarf draped there.

"I think about a year and a half? Before that I stayed with the Jones', they had a guest house they let me use. There kids are so cute, between the three of us I'm surprised there was only four fires," Ace laughed, sheepish.

"Fire's?" Marco repeated, trying not to sound too interested.

"Yes," Ace's cheeks darkened, just a bit, "I'm a bit accident prone."

"Can you swim?" Marco asked next, confusing Ace.

"I… don't know. I've never tried. The water on this island is too cold for it. Why?"

"Well, if you were to put to sea, you would want to be able to. Most people do, at least," he reasoned.

Ace's brows furrowed. "Why would I go to sea?" he asked the question, but Marco could see the spark that had entered his eyes. The brightness, the longing, the love. Ace wanted to go to sea.

"You love the ocean," Marco said with absolute certainty. "One day, you should go sail on it."

"How do you- I mean I do but I don't even know how to sail!"

"You might," Marco suggested lightly. He drummed his fingers on the wood, still warm from the stew. Stew that he knew. Stew that _Thatch_ had taught him how to make. There was no mistaking what it was, it was the exact same stew that Thatch made on the _Moby Dick_. There was no way that a strange could recreate it exactly.

And, Ace had known how to make it.

 _Marco had never had to deal with such an unruly logia type before. For someone made out of fire he was a slippery little devil, always disappearing to sulk after he tried to kill Pops. He kept finding new places too. Marco had once found him curled up in the rafters of a store room, another time he had been under Marco's on bed. Marco always found him within the hour._

 _Today, after yet another flying lesson from Whitebeard, Ace had vanished to the point that even Marco couldn't find him._

 _Part of Marco was suspicious that he had finally given up and jumped ship, but he doubted that was the case. The boy was fearless and determined, and stubborn to the point of potential suicide trying to kill the strongest man in the world. Not that Pops would kill him. He had already decided that Ace was going to be one of his beloved sons, and once Whitebeard decided you were his that was that._

 _But, Ace could not become one of Marco's brothers until he had been found, and no one had seen him in hours._

 _Which brought Marco to the kitchen. Thatch was usually in there this time of day, and Ace was usually nowhere near it. For one reason or another, out of pride or paranoia, he refused to eat with the rest of them. Instead he would sneak in and eat at night, alone in the dark._

 _That would stop once he was their brother, hopefully, but until then it was only a matter of time before he snuck into the kitchen to filch a snack or two._

 _Marco eased the door open, peaking in. His mouth was open to call for Thatch before he realized who exactly was inside the kitchen._

 _Thatch was there, yes, but so was one Portgas D. Ace._

 _The pair of them was huddled by a massive pot that was steaming, the scent of it the stew that Thatch excelled at. If anyone outside the crew was allowed to eat it he would be world famous for that alone, but nobody who did not carry Whitebeards mark was allowed to eat it._

 _Except, it seemed, for Ace. He was even allowed to sample a spoonful of it._

 _Marco leaned against the doorway, just watching the pair talking about food. Thatch pointed a jar on the ledge beside the stove and Ace grabbed it for him._

" _Three shakes," Thatch said, and Ace obeyed. Marco was amazed. Thatch was teaching his secret recipe to Ace, who wasn't even his brother yet._

 _It seemed that, whether Ace knew it or not, he was already family._

"How would I even get to sea? People don't exactly come here often, and I don't think the Marine's are interested in someone who barely knows their own name," Ace shook his head, his words breaking Marco from his thoughts.

"Fuck the Marines," Marco said viciously. Ace drew up, staring at him. Marco met his gaze, unrepentant. "Fuck the Marines. They're murders and liars, and you belong with people better than them."

Ace slowly stood up. "Sorry but, what exactly makes you think that? You barely know me."

Marco faltered. That did make him think that? Just the similarities between this Ace and the one he lost? Or the light in his eyes when he talked about the sea?

"Sorry," he wasn't really, but he did nod to Ace. "I guess I can't pass judgement, can I?"

"No," Ace agreed, regarding him. "But it's okay. "

Marco wondered if it really was. If anything about this situation was okay.

"Have you been to sea?" Ace asked, before turning sheepish. "No, nevermind. You're a pirate."

Funny, Marco didn't remember telling him he was a pirate. Still he smiled indulgently at the younger man, the ferocity from earlier already forgotten.

"I have. It's beautiful, and wild. There's an adventure around every wave," he watched Ace, waiting until he saw the spark enter his eyes once more. Then, he leaned forwards. "Would you like to come with me?"

It was, perhaps, a poor choice. How could he have someone on board when he had travelled alone so long? How could he invite someone who was so close to his dead brother to travel with him? It wasn't fair, not to either of them. He opened his mouth to retract the statement, but the wonder on Ace's face stopped him.

"Would you really take me with you? To the _sea_?" he was breathless. Breathless and bright and eager.

Marco didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Ace's smile lit the room better than the lamp in the corner. It was bright, beautiful. So horribly, painfully familiar. That horribly dangerous hope pushed back into his brain.

"It won't be for a while though," Ace said, though his excitement didn't sim a single watt. "The storm won't die down for a couple of weeks. We probably can't even leave the house." And didn't that just figure, that they were stuck together in a cabin in the middle of a snow storm.

Was it a miracle, or a cruel coincidence?


	4. The Lonely

**This is. So short. I'm so sorry guys but I had to cut it off where I did.**

 **Anyhow,**

 **Trich: Thanks! I have like, two more chapters. Four max.**

 **sdkop21: Thank you!**

 **pinja: Thanks! These boys are so cute and I love hurting them so much**

* * *

 _The scream that tore through the air was heart wrenching. In all his life Marco didn't think he had ever heard such a forlorn sound than the one the wind carried across the battlefield to him. He turned, forgoing his battle, and felt his heart freeze inside of his chest._

 _He had to be wrong. That couldn't really be Ace's body laying on the ground, blood pouring out of a massive hole in his chest. It couldn't._

 _Marco could only stare as Luffy, who was really just a child, wailed above his brother's broken body. Before his very eyes a soft red light enveloped the corpse, growing brighter until it obscured Ace's smiling face. His dark hair, his strong arms, his dusting of freckles._

 _The light stopped. Wind blew and the light vanished, flashing out of existence in a wave of embers that lifted into the air and vanished._

Marco opened his eyes to see a painfully familiar face hovering above his own. His breath caught in his throat.

"Ace?"

"You um. You were crying," Ace offered him a tissue. Marco sighed and accepted it. It had been almost a year since he'd had that particular dream. He sat up, slowly, giving Ace time enough to pull back from him so they wouldn't knock their foreheads together.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing some of the color out of his cheeks. Damn it, he felt like a child.

"It's okay," Ace sat at the edge of the bed. Despite Marco's objections, he insisted that the pirate sleep there. As if he needed it. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"It's just a bad dream, Ace. You don't need to worry."

Ace shrugged, looking at him with a smile that was so familiar it hurt.

"Well, if you ever do…"

"Sure."

Marco didn't see a reason to say more. He looked away, towards the little kitchen. No sooner had he glanced away than a weight landed on his shoulder, pulling his attention back.

Ace leaned on his shoulder, snoring softly.

Marco snorted at the sight. Carefully, he pulled himself out from under the younger man and lay him down on the bed. And he said he didn't need it! Ace must have been exhausted, to just fall asleep like that.

 _He used to fall asleep in his food,_ said a little voice that he did his best to smash viciously.

Yes, Ace did had Narcolepsy. The coincidences just kept piling up. Marco touched the sleeping mans arm, above a tattoo Ace had never gotten around to telling him the full story of. Just that the 's' wasn't crossed out as a mistake. Was it there, on this man?

If it was, what the hell did Marco do?

It was clear that, even if this was his Ace, he didn't remember him. So what was he supposed to do now? He could heal his own body, but no one elses. Certainly not their mind.

Marco grimaced and a ran a hand through his hair. What was he supposed to do now?

Outside, the howling wind shifted. Far enough that the new sound invaded his sensative ears. The sound of boots in snow. No one had shown up since he'd been there, no one had braved the snow and according to Ace no one would. Not for another couple of days.

Yet, there was someone outside the warm little house in the middle of the woods. And Marco had the distinct feeling that they were not going to be friends of his.


	5. The Found

Ace was very used to waking up in odd places. He rarely woke up in his bed, if he was being honest. He had the strangest habit of just falling asleep, it didn't matter what he was doing or who was around, or what was happening.

At first he had scared the ever loving crap out of everyone around him, but eventually they all learned that he was just asleep, not dead.

Consequently, Ace had found himself waking up on floors, behind chairs, holding a fork halfway to his mouth, and on one very memorable occasion hanging upside down in a well.

He had never woken up to an explosion rocking his house before though.

He had certainly never snapped his eyes open and tumbled out of bed, his body taking him where his mind did not know to, to dodge a massive fist and slam straight into a body. Miraculously he avoided the rifle that came around to him and lashed out, smacking hard with his elbow. Something soft gave way under his blow and Ace found himself looking down at a choking man, his knife clattering uselessly to the ground.

Cold are whipped through the new hole in his wall. Ace took in the damage quickly. A hole roughly the size of a person, three unconscious men on his floor and more on the outside of the hole. Not just men, he realized, but, marine's.

Ace had just punched a marine. Oh.

The man swallowed back the thought and turned away from the damage he had inflicted to venture outside, stepping carefully over what he didn't want to investigate further. Unconscious, maybe. Corpses, probably.

Marco was missing. Marco was a pirate, a Whitebeard pirate, he would be in danger. In the thick of it.

Had Marco ever told him he was a Whitebeard pirate?

Ace followed the trail of destruction, of broken bodies and shattered trees into the wind that tore at his scarf and pulled at his coat. The storm hadn't broken yet. It was cold, freezing. He hated it.

Ahead of him, a blue light flickered and Ace picked up his heels into a jog. He fought through the mounds of snow, shoving through pine branches until he stumbled into a wide gap in the trees. The lake had frozen over, and someone was fighting on it. Snow wailed around his ears, shoving hard against his body until Ace had to fight to move his legs forwards. He dragged himself through, closer and closer to the neon blue. Yellow flashed with it.

The world seemed to stop.

The wind parted around them, twisting into a funnel that cleared the ice and snow. The storm still screamed but Ace couldn't hear it. He didn't see only the white out, he barely noticed the marine with his rifle or the one cutting forwards with a sword. Everything fell away until the only thing he could see was blue.

Yellow twisted through flaming feathers, long flashes of gold floated behind in a tail and the creature spread its wings. Long, neon tips reached for the sky and a cry fell from its beak.

Fire erupted not from the bird, but from Ace. In his heart, it ripped through his chest. He crumpled to the ground. The fire raced from his chest down, through his core until it could claw its way into his skull.

He screamed.

Ace writhed on the ground, clawing at his skin. He was being split in half, torn apart from inside by a fire he didn't understand.

A hand touched his shoulder. He looked up, gasping for any semblance of the cold air that had filled him moments before.

"Marco," he croaked weakly. Marco. First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates. His friend. His lo-

Ice cracked underneath them. Ace had time enough to shove Marco away from him before it gave way and he plunged into the icy water beneath them.

* * *

Marco didn't know everything about hypothermia. He _did_ know that you were supposed to strip them and get them warm. He hoped.

Unfortunately, there was a massive hole in the wall of the house that let most of the heat out. Marco shoved the bodies out into the snow and covered the hole with the bed, trying to fit it as best as he could. As soon as there was a block he went back to Ace, who he'd somehow managed to rip out of the lake. Marco didn't remember quite what he'd done, just that he'd been on fire and managed to get a grip on the boy before he sunk too far down.

Now he was quick to rip off the scarf that normally covered his neck, pulled the zipper on his jacket and tore apart the buttons on his long flannel shirt. Marco did not stop when he saw the horrible scar that burned across Ace's chest.

He dragged the clothes away, throwing them off into the corner. The kitchen stove fire was stoked high, burning hot enough to make Marco sweat from the proximity. He lay Ace out in front of it, his skin pale, his lips an unhealthy color.

Marco took in a shaky breath. Why couldn't he burn hot? Why couldn't he warm Ace?

Damn it!

Marco cursed, curling over the younger man. The fire burned hot but Ace's skin burned hotter. A fever.

 _No, no, no. Please_!

 _Please_.

The fire crackled loudly, popping. Heat rolled off it, matched almost exclusively by Ace. That was too hot. Too hot for any human.

Marco lifted his eyes to Ace's face, watching something red and bright pulse under his skin. It glowed, brighter, racing through his veins until Marco felt his eyes burn as well as the skin on his palms.

It vanished all at once.

Marco was caught by dark eyes, sucked in through gravity and familiarity. They sparkled, an awkward smile appeared.

"Marco?" something in the way Ace said his name felt different. A breath of relief swept through the man, carrying away with it the guilt and the confusion, leaving behind segmented finality that this was exactly who he thought it was.

"Ace," he said softly, "You name- You're Portgas D. Ace."

The smile grew wider.

"Yeah," he said softly. "And you're Marco the Phoenix." An arm slid behind Marco's neck, dragging him into a burning kiss. Blue flickered across Marco's mouth, mingling between them to fix the damage as soon as it was done.

Marco wrapped his arms around Ace, around _his_ Ace, and pulled him into a crushing hug. It felt like coming home.

 **End.**


	6. The Epilogue

**Okay I lied. I had a little bit more to get out there.**

 **Epilogue**

* * *

Someone had told him once, years ago, that the shivers that ran up his spine when nothing was around to cause it meant that someone was walking across his grave. It was a weird saying attached to a funny feeling that gave it a vague sense of foreboding.

Now, standing in front of his own grave, Ace was a little disappointed that he didn't't feel any shivering at all. Just a bit of melancholy. On the cross was his favorite orange hat, a gift from Luffy all those years ago, his belt and dagger, and a necklace that he had been sure Akainu's fist had broken two and a half years ago.

"I gathered the beads," Marco said, as if reading Ace's mind. He was good at that. "Haruta tried to help me string them back together, but I didn't let her. I felt like- like I had to do it. On my own."

Without looking, Ace grabbed his hand.

"Thank you," he said. He looked at tomb, where they had erected a grave with his name on it. It was weird, he felt like it should have been more horrifying, to see where he had supposedly been laid to rest. Instead he just felt bitter that his family had had to erect it in the first place.

He and Marco still hadn't been to see the others yet. Marco had explained, after his memories returned, that he was now leading the Whitebeard Pirates. After his crash into the icy islands and the ensuing months they had to spend together (which, Ace did not mind _at all_ ) Marco had wanted to give Ace a chance to ease back into the swing of piracy before throwing him to the metaphorical sharks.

He was also probably well aware of the fact that the instant they had settled Ace was going to want to hunt down Teach, as well as that had gone before.

All of these thoughts were really just Ace procrastinating looking slightly to the right. Wind caught the massive white coat and pulled it, reminding the young man of the fact that he couldn't put this off forever.

Ace breathed in the tepid air, trying to acquire some modicum of calm.

He lifted his eyes, slowly, to the monument built for his father. His real father. The one that loved him regardless of his origins, taken him in and offered to share his family. Edward Newgate was the only father that Ace had ever known.

 _And I got him killed._

Ace couldn't breath around the knot in his throat.

"Pop's… I'm so-"

"Don't you dare."

Ace swallowed tensely and looked over his shoulder. Marco's gaze, normally half lidded and lazy, had sharpened. A gaze golden now outside of a phoenix transformation, a sign of how intensely Marco felt about Ace's near apology.

"Marco…"

"Don't. Pops died for you, Little Oars jr. did too. Don't disrespect their love for you by apologizing for their willing sacrifice. If Luffy told you he was sorry he survived after you died for him, how would you feel?"

Ace worked his jaw slowly. The guilt in his heart wasn't alleviated, not a bit, but he knew the truth in Marco's words. If Luffy apologized for living-

 _Luffy._

Ace looked away from Marco, back to the grave. He bowed his head to hide his dampening cheeks. Where was his hat when he needed it?

"Thank you," he said instead. "For being a wonderful father. I-I love you, pops!"

Ace could have sworn that he felt a massive hand weighing down on his back, warming his shoulders. A familiar laugh was carried on the wind.

" _I love you too, my son! "_

* * *

"Man, Luffy is going to lose his shit when he sees me."

Marco glanced over at Ace, who was very meticulously applying makeup to hide his freckles. He had taken to tying his long, flowing hair into a loose bun behind his head these days, and even in the warmer climate of Dressrosa he had his throat covered with the thick white scarf that fluttered behind his back when he ran. It wasn't much of a disguise, in terms of effort, but often times the best ones were the easiest. Not to mention the fact that Ace had died, publically been executed, two years ago. Most anyone who saw him now would just assume they were crazy, or that there was just a strange resemblance between him and the young pirate prince.

Pirate Prince, now that was a strange thing to think.

At this point, it was more accurate to call Luffy the prince, seeing as he would be the next King and all.

"Does your brother know that his hat belonged to Roger?" Marco asked abruptly.

Ace's head snapped towards him. The younger pirate stared at Marco open mouthed. So Ace hadn't known either? Not that surprising. Ace hadn't even been born when Roger died.

"Ah. Never mind then," Marco waved his hand to dismiss his words. Ace was marginally less sensitive about his lineage since he regained his memories, Marco could only guess why. That was the only reason there hadn't been an outburst of Ace's Issues with the dead king.

"Wait, does that mean Shanks was on _his_ crew?" Ace turned towards Marco. Marco handed him his combat boots.

"Shanks? Yeah, he was Roger's apprentice back in the day. Trouble maker back then. Not much has changed," Marco shrugged casually. This was all old news. Roger had always been pretty good at keeping his cabin brats out of the limelight, so the government and therefore the public didn't know about his relationship. Still, he thought…

Well, it didn't matter what he thought.

"Who knew," Ace shook his head. He needed it clear for what they were about to do.

"For the record, I'm against this," Marco said for the millionth time.

For the millionth time Ace replied, "That won't stop me. Lu needs to know I'm okay."

"Just… be careful," Marco must have let some of his genuine worry leak into his voice because Ace's expression softened. He crossed what little space there was in their cheap hotel room and sat next to Marco, close enough they were pressed side to side.

Marco couldn't help it if he worried. He had already lost so much already. He had barely kept the crew together in the last two years and even now most of them were in hiding after the disastrous attempt at revenge.

The attempt he'd lead them in.

A strong arm draped comfortably across Marco's shoulders.

"We sure are a pair, huh?" Ace joked. "What would Pops say?"

Marco snorted. "He'd tell us to get our heads out of our asses and start acting like pirates."

"Yeah. So what are we doing sitting on our asses? We've got trouble to stir up!"

Marco shook his head and leaned on Ace. He didn't like this, the whole thing smelled like a trap. As if the devil fruit wasn't enough proof of the fact that they were luring people in, the whole country was populated by living toys. It made Marco's skin crawl.

He still had a lot of questions in regards to the fruit, and exactly what had happened with Ace. People didn't just disappear in a flare of red when they were supposed to be dead. Accounts of devil fruit were rare and far between, so he just assumed that it had something to do with the Flame Flame Fruit. And, Ace still had his fire power.

So, either the fruit that was being offered as a prize was a fake, or they were missing something important about Logias.

Thinking about it, Marco had never heard of a logia user dying.

There was so much about devil fruits that no one knew, so much that they didn't understand. Even to the people who had eaten them, even to people like Marco, who had seen thousands of devil fruit in his long life didn't know that much about them.

Marco sighed and gently shoved Ace. He pushed a ski cap into his hands.

"Get going. You're in A block yeah? Be careful and remember-"

"No fires, I know, I know," Ace held up his hand and an exhasperated surrender. He flashed Marco a guileless smile and, with a parting kiss, ran off through the door with his scarf pulled up over his mouth.

Marco had a very bad feeling about all of this.

* * *

Ace had had a good feeling about this, at the start of the fight.

By the time he was on his knees, gulping in air while the crowds screamed around him, his opinion had changed a little.

Mr. Store lay on the ground in front of him, his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Blood dripped down a cut on his temple, saturating the brown paper bag that covered the rest of his face. One of his arms was bent at the wrong angle and the rubber on his boots had melted at some point. Hopefully no one would notice, what with the whole undercover thing.

Ace was breathing so hard he felt cold from his lungs outwards, only combated by his devil fruit abilities. Ace lifted his clenched fists above his head, tilted his face towards the sun a roared his victory for the world to hear.

He hadn't thought the fight would be that hard. Everyone else in the block had fallen easily, but this Mr. Store just would _stay down._ Ace had to give credit where it was due, not a lot of people could take what he had dished out.

In the months since he had come back from the grave he had been training his ass off in a desperate attempt to get back to where he was, and to surpass that level entirely. If he couldn't, he didn't have the right to sail the seas. The New World was a place where only the strong survived, and Ace would not be a burden on Marco while they travelled together. So he trained, harder than he ever had in his life.

He would have been stronger if he hadn't spent the last two years doing little more than running around a snow island, chopping wood and helping fix houses. But, he was stronger than he had been before, finally.

Strong enough to clear the coliseum block without using his devil fruit powers once.

...well, maybe once. Just to give him a little bit of leverage in that last bout.

Ace rocked unsteadily to his feet. He'd taken more damage than he'd wanted too. Marco was gonna be pissed when he got back. Actually, from the dark glower that was clouding his face from where he sat in the crowd, he was already pissed. Great.

Ace smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head. His bun had almost come loose. God, he needed a haircut. After he wasn't in hiding any more he was chopping it short again.

Luffy was here too. It had been impossible for Ace to miss him fighting in B block. This was going to be fun, he could already tell.

His good feeling only got better when he saw a flash of a gold helmet and a white beard turn through the same tunnel he was going through. Now, Ace had a plan when he came there. Beat everyone, show the world he was alive and challenge Luffy to meet him 'where the sea meets the sky'. He was pretty confident that, even if Luffy couldn't figure it out, that clever navigator of his would understand that there was a knock up stream around the next island.

Ace wanted a little bit of privacy for their reunion.

All those plans went out the window the second he realized he was within walking distance of his little brother. His little brother.

God, what was he ever supposed to say to him? He had speeches rehearsed in his head, excuses, apologies, pleas. But they all boiled down to thanks. Thanks that he had already given Luffy, given all of them on his deathbed. Er, death brick?

Ace grimaced and halted at the doorway to the place where the gladiators who won were all gathering. He clenched his hands into fists. Why was this shit so hard?!

It had been easier when he hadn't known just how badly he'd fucked everything up in the past. It was almost enough to make him long for those days where the past was nothing more than the white wind the blew outside, untouchable, cold and dangerous.

Marco vanished in the crowd, also disguised though his was just some sun glasses and he actually buttoned his shirt up for once. He reappeared right above where Ace was hesitating, head poking out from the bricks that made up the colosseum. The whole place had a weird feel to it. It reminded him of walking on an iced over lake. Stable, with something lurking beneath the surface.

"Hey!" Marco tossed a pebble at Ace's head. "Get going already."

Ace rubbed the point of impact, like it had actually hurt, and made a face up at Marco.

"Maybe I don't want to," he crossed his arms over his chest childishly.

Marco rolled his sleepy eyes, looking utterly bored with Ace's antics and indecision. For someone who was so bullheaded all of the time, when Ace's self esteem issues reared their ugly head the cure was hard to find.

"Just go see him. Talk to him, if nothing else. He doesn't even need to know your name."

That was… a good point.

Ace fiddled with the dagger strapped to his hip. He'd taken that, and his hat and his necklace, off of his grave. He didn't feel quite right without them, now that he knew they had been missing. It was a hollow mourning he hadn't even known he'd been going through.

"Okay, okay," Ace took a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked into the darkness.

* * *

Luffy had a habit of picking up weird people. _Really,_ weird people. Ace stared at the guy in the diamond patterned pants and the red jacket. Honestly the most normal thing about him was the green hair. Those _teeth._

Ace made a face.

He hadn't meant to take so long to catch up to Luffy, but removing the makeup that hid his freckles and then tracking the boy down took more time than he wanted it to. Which was how he had gotten there just in time for the green haired weirdo, Bart or Romeo, he hadn't been paying attention, to declare that he would win the Flame Flame fruit on Luffy's behalf.

"That's pretty bold talk, for a rookie," Ace chided. The sound was muffled by his scarf. "Maybe I'll win."

The green haired man stomped towards him, half slouched over. Even like that he towered easily over Ace. Ace didn't so much as blink. He hadn't planned on having audience. On top of this guy, someone else was walking down the hallway towards them. Ace glanced over. An uncomfortably familiar hat bobbed in the dimly lit tunnel.

The 'S' on his arm itched.

"Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am? I'll win the fruit for him for sure!" he roared, pointing at Luffy. Ace peered around his shoulder and waved. It was all he could do. Even with the goofy disguise the dark brown eyes that squinted at him were unmistakable.

All Ace could manage was a strangled, 'hey Lu.'.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the way that Luffy's eyes got just a little bigger. The scar on his chest throbbed painfully. This was Luffy. Luffy, who he'd caused so much pain. He probably would have been better off if they never even me-

 _Being alone is worse than any pain._

Ace mentally shook himself. This wasn't the time for his self deprecation. Luffy needed to know. He needed to know that Ace hadn't broken his promise. He needed to know he still had one brother left in this world.

"I'm afraid," the stranger in the top hat said, coming to a halt next to them, "That I can't let either one of you win the Flame Flame Fruit." A thin smile slid across the half shadowed face. "Straw Hat Luffy."

So this guy recognized his little brother too? Ace shifted on his feet, freeing a hand from his pockets. He lay his fingers around the hilt of his dagger. He wasn't the only one defensive of Luffy, the green guy swaggered over, baring his teeth.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be? Where are you from? You can't talk to him so casually!"

Ace sighed. Where did Lu find these people? He was a magnet for outcasts, oddballs, and victims of misfortune.

Oh, he was still talking.

"He's the brother of the legendary Fire Fist Ace! Of course he'll get the fruit!"

At that, Ace couldn't stop it. He laughed. All eyes snapped to him. He held his hands up, placatingly.

"Ah-ha, don't mind me. It's just, that fruit up there is fake. The real ones already been eaten."

"How can you laugh at his tragedy!" the green man screamed in Ace's face. Ace put his hand on his cheek and shoved him hard enough to send him into a wall.

The man stumbled away. Ace hadn't actually hurt him. He was a friend of Luffy's, after all. "You can't- He's going to be King of the Pirates one day!"

Ace smiled. Luffy kept finding these people with so much faith in him. So, weird or not, he could give the green guy his support.

"Oh, I've known that since way back," the strange waved his hand in a gesture that was a little too familiar. There was something about him… Ace could swear he knew him, but the only real resemblance was impossible. So, who was he?

Before Ace's eyes, the top hat came down. A fluff of blond hair appeared, an ugly scar that Ace recognized as being from fire painted his face. A face that, even twelve years older Ace would recognize anywhere. His throat closed up, squeezing a hiss through his teeth.

That was-

"Sabo."

Past that he couldn't hear anything they were saying, the words no more than static in his brain. Ace could only watch, jaw dropped from behind his scarf as Luffy, tears and snot pouring down his face, launched himself at the blond. Sabo was- Sabo was-

Sabo was _alive._

Ace felt like he was a world away, no more than a bystander as Sabo turned his head and gasped for air, being strangled by Luffy's rubber hug.

"B-but Sabo!"

Luffy's sobs finally broke through the white noise machine that had replaced his ears. His heart wrenched his chest when Luffy poured his words out.

"I let Ace get killed right in front of me!"

Ace took an unsteady step forwards. He didn't know if he wanted to hug or beat the shit out of both of them.

"I know," Sabo's smile didn't fade at all. "Even still, I'm so happy you survived. I almost lost both of my brothers. If you had died, I would have been completely alone."

"No!" the word burst past his lips. Sabo and Luffy looked over at him, one bawling his eyes out, the other happy as composed as he was. Ace gripped his white scarf with shaking fingers. His own eyes were starting to get blurry.

"You- you wouldn't have been alone," Ace ripped the scarf away, burning the stupid ski cap right off of his head, a few stray tears slipping down his face. "You didn't let me die, Lu! I've been here the whole time!"

There was a beat of silence and for an instant Ace feared Luffy didn't believe him. That he'd have to prove it.

Then a long arm slung around his shoulders and Ace found himself being slammed against his brothers. His brothers! Luffy _and_ Sabo, all three of them. Ace's knees grew weak and he was left with no choice but to cling to Sabo for support.

"Thank you," he choked against Sabo's shoulder. "Thank you! Sabo, Luffy!"


End file.
